White Trash
by Shawn K
Summary: Johnny's P.O.V. He runs away. Prebook.
1. Default Chapter

"Fuck this," I said, wiping the blood from my lip. My goddamn parents. I'd had enough. 

Enough of them fucking hitting me all the time. Enough of their fucking shit, basically.

I figured on running away. I could hear them screaming after me, "Johnny, you little shit, get back here!" Heard how loud my footsteps were after all that noise, loud in the sudden quiet.

It was like almost get tin' dark, just that weird dark gray sky. I squinted at the bit of setting sun I could still see over by the factory, the smoke stacks. I notice this shit cause of Pony, he points it out and sooner or later you just start to notice it, ya know?

What I usually do is take off when my old man hits me. I'll go to the lot or Pony's house but I'll always go back home. That's cause I'm fucking stupid. Stayed back in school and everything.

But this day, this one day, I'd had enough.

…………….x……………………x……………………..x

I didn't have money or shit, I never did. This is cause I'm a greaser and we're fucking poorer than dirt, white trash. My parents ain't got shit cause they drink it all away. A lot of my friends steal shit and sometimes I do, too. Not often. Not really anymore. I used to when I was a kid and didn't know better. Now I try not to fucking steal cause it ain't right, you know? Just cigarettes if I fucking need 'em, dig it? You got to have that shit.

Speakin' of it I only had a few left. I'd gotten a few blocks away and stopped, leaned against a streetlight and lit up a cigarette. I noticed I got fucking blood on the end of it. Lip was still fucking bleeding. Christ! And you know what? I almost started bawling right then, just like a fucking little baby.

It reminded me of that time Pony was over and my old man whips me with a two by four. They'd seen me get hit before, all of them have, but with a fucking two by four? And that fucking hurt so bad, but Pony was there, so I said to myself I wouldn't cry or make a sound.

Sometimes though I wouldn't cry at all, or do anything at all. No matter what they'd say or do. It's kinda like I can't really feel it, like it isn't me, in some kind of way. Sometimes. This is fucked up. If I don't watch it I'll be like Dally. I mean, I admire him and all, he's cool and all, and in a way I'd like to be like him. But it sorta scares me, too.

"Hey, Johnny," I looked up. It was Pony. It was dark now and he didn't notice my busted lip and whatever else.

"Hey, Pony, what's up?" He got closer and I saw him wince a little cause I was all beat up.

"Aw, shit, Johnny. What happened?"

He was real serious. Quiet like me but serious and so smart. We were in the same fucking grade despite the fact I'm two years older.

"My old man. You know,"

He nodded like he knew. He didn't. He knew my old man beat the shit out of me, that ain't what I meant. I meant he had good parents, really like they knew the score, you know? But they died in a car wreck awhile ago. He lived with his older brothers and his brothers fucking loved that kid. It was still a good family. So that's how he didn't know.

He put his hand on my shoulder and I flinched a little but then I relaxed. It was only Ponyboy, man. It wasn't like it was my old man. But every time someone touches me I get kinda scared. I told you I was fucked up.


	2. You should stay here tonight

It wasn't no easy decision to run away even though I'd thought about it a million times. Ever since I realized not every kid got belted every fucking time they turned around.

"Gotta cigarette, Johnny?"

I nodded and gave him one. Pony smokes a lot, but not as much as me.

"Why ain't ya got cigarettes?" I lit one, too, and watched him through the smoke. He shrugged.

"Ran out, s'pose,"

I wondered if Pony knew how much I wished I was him, sometimes. It's being friends with him that's let me see certain stuff. Like no one in his family beats him. Course he's been in fights with socs and shit, like the rest of us. But that's different. Socs ain't supposed to like us cause we're greasers and all, it's just the way things are.

"It's a school night," Pony said.

"Yeah, so?"

"So Darry wants me to get home soon. You wanna come?"

I shrugged.

"Guess so,"

So we took off for his house, smoked another cigarette on the way.

"Hey, Johnny, a soc," Pony pointed across the street. I'll be damned, he's right. A kid in a madres shirt and khaki pants, his hair short and clean.

"What the hell is he doing this far north?" I said.

"Beats me,"

He saw us, I could tell. He started walkin' faster, near to running.

"He's scared of us," Pony said. We laughed.

"Lot to be scared of, huh, Ponyboy?"

At his house the T.V. was on real loud and his brothers were watchin' it. Pony's eyes widened and I wondered why, then I realized I must look worse in the light. Well, it'd be the last fucking time it happens.

"Johnny?" Soda said my name cautiously and stood up, came over to me slowly. I watched him. Soda was real nice, but nice in a different way with different people. He was real smart like that, smarter than Ponyboy. He had people figured out like Pony had his books figured out.

"Your parents?" he said, and he was close enough to touch me, but he didn't.

"Yeah,"

"C'mon. Let's clean ya up," He headed toward the bathroom and I followed. I stood at the edge of the room while he wet a facecloth. Closed my eyes while he cleaned up the blood. He was gentle.

"Okay, that's better," he said. I'd sure miss these guys but I didn't have a choice. It was either run away or kill myself.

It was just getting later and later. Pony was tired, kinda falling asleep watchin' the T.V.

"I gotta go," I said, standing up.

"Johnny," Ponyboy said, sounding sleepy, "you should stay here tonight,"

"Thanks, but I can't. I gotta go,"

"Alright, then. See ya tomorrow,"

"Yeah, bye,"

I stumbled out of their house and just started walking. I didn't know where I was headed. Maybe Texas, maybe California. Didn't matter. Just so long as I was out of that house.


	3. Where's the fire?

I knew it was a school night cause Pony had said it was. But I didn't give a shit about school. I hated school.

First of all all the teachers thought I was just plain dumb. I suppose they're right. I can't remember hardly anything they say, I can barely pay attention. I stayed back last year so instead of being a junior I'm still a fucking sophomore, which sucks. And I'll stay back again, probably, cause it ain't making no more sense than it did last year.

I didn't care about sleeping outside. I did it all the time. And there were vacant lots all over, they sprung up like the weeds. Urban decay. Whatever.

I walked several blocks, out of my fucking neighborhood for once, found a vacant lot and curled up in the tall grass, went to sleep.

x………….x…………..x

"Ow! What the fuck?" I woke up cause someone fucking kicked me and my first blurry thought was that it was my old man. But I was outside, and stiff from sleeping outside.

I looked up at the bright sun and a couple of socs standing over me.

"Hey greaser," one of them said, nudging me with the toe of his shoe. I jerked away and sat up. Glared at them.

"What are you doing sleeping outside?" one said in an over sweet voice. They both had buzz cuts, different shades of light brown. I just stayed quiet, stood up, got ready to run.

"Wish we had time to teach you why it's dangerous to sleep outside," the other one said, and laughed.

"White trash," the first one muttered, and shoved me, knocked me off balance.

"Fuck you," I said.

They had been walking away but turned back.

"What?"

"You heard me, fuck you,"

They'd been on their way to school, not really wanting to bother with me. But it changed. I saw the looks on their faces.

"Get him!" one said, and I took off.

Down the street, all I could hear was those damn socs pounding after me, through an alley, down the next street. I ducked into an open doorway and heard them pound past it.

"Where's the fire?"

I was gasping, out of breath. I had hardly any wind cause of smoking. I was in a bookshop that looked like it was about a hundred years old, crazy book shelves going all the way up to the ceiling, packed with old dusty books, leather bindings with gold writing.

"I said, 'where's the fire?'" The guy that said it was a thin guy with glasses and kind of going bald. He looked like he was in his 30's or 40's.

"Huh? Nowhere. I just don't wanna get beat up," I was kinda able to breathe again, but my side still hurt, and my mouth was dry.

"Oh yeah?" The guy said calmly, like it really didn't matter to him one way or the other. I guess it didn't.

"Who's trying to beat you up?"

"Socs,"

He nodded and started organizing books, or continued it I guess. He didn't ask what a soc was like most adults would.

"Are you hungry?" he said, calmly putting the stack of books on the other counter. There were like three counters made of glass filled with books. There weren't just the leather gold engraved books here, there were kids' picture board books, worn out paperbacks, hard covers with dust jackets.

"Hungry?" I couldn't really remember when I'd eaten last, "yeah,"

"Here you go," he set a box of donuts on the counter and I took one, bit into it. It tasted good, the best fucking donut I ever had.


End file.
